Halo: The Last Campaign
by BATstrider
Summary: Two years after the Fall of Reach, the Covenant takes Earth. The remaining UNSC forces relocate to the Antizare XIV system, a system the Covenant don't even know about. And only one thing keeps hope alive: The SPARTAN-III project... please R/R!
1. Memories

Memories. They flashed through his mind like wildfire, bringing him to awareness in the void of his subconscious. Visions of the past surrounded him in an array of emotions. Most of them were happy ones, but as they went on, they got dark.  
  
How he had been left by his true love.  
  
Darker.  
  
The death of his family at the hands of the Covenant.  
  
Darker.  
  
The demise of his entire unit one by one.  
  
Darkest.  
  
When he, too, died.  
  
He could still feel the plasma burn into him, still hear the whine of the Covenant weapons and the staccato-clatter response of the Human assault rifles.  
  
But a part of his subconscious tingled.  
  
How could he still think if he was dead?  
  
Suddenly, a light appeared in his vision, opening into a perfectly circular form.  
  
A portal.  
  
He stepped into the light. 


	2. Awakenings

Griffin VII, Antizare XIV system Research Base Spartica Sept. 25, 2554  
  
"Professor Halsey! Unit 17 is showing increased brainwave activity!"  
  
ONI professor David Halsey, brother to the late Catherine Halsey, looked up sharply from his paperwork. He keyed the 'com.  
  
"Whaddya mean, Lieutenant?" he asked, pulling out and loading his standard-issue M6D auto-pistol. Better safe than sorry; those clones had half the genes of SPARTAN-117, and if they woke this early from cryosleep, they'd be more unstable than a Covenant Hunter.  
  
"Brainwaves show he's dreaming, sir. He'll be up in five," was the reply.  
  
"Roger," said David, turning the pistol's safety off. "Get a fireteam on standby."  
  
"Copy that, sir. Cryo control, out." After he killed the line, the young professor leapt out of his seat and dashed towards the cryo bay.  
  
"What's happening now?" asked David, as he arrived in the room, pistol in hand. The Marine fireteam saw him and gave him salutes, which he returned.  
  
"He's up, sir," murmured a tech grimly, turning in his seat. "He's trying to bust out of the 'tube."  
  
Halsey crossed to the observation window and surveyed 17. The clone was trying to punch his way through the 'tube's transparent outer cover. Cracks were laid out like spider webs, and David marveled at how the clone's physical augmentation and newly added genes contributed to his destructive strength. But Halsey noticed the man was trying to say something.  
  
"Cut to internal audio feed for #17!" he ordered.  
  
"Internal feed for 17, roger that," replied the head tech, the Lieutenant. He tapped a few keys, and the SPARTAN's air-deprived voice came through the speakers.  
  
"You goddamn Covenant!" he yelled, wheezing. "Get me out of here before I get out myself and tear out your goddamned hearts!"  
  
The guy was suffering from oxygen deprivation, Halsey knew that much.  
  
"Should we help him?" asked the Lieutenant timidly.  
  
"He looks stable enough," said Halsey, holstering his M6D. "If I were a Covenant, I'd leave him there. Thankfully, I'm not." He turned to the Lieutenant.  
  
"Manual override on SPARTAN-17. Pop the seal."  
  
"Roger that," said the tech, typing keys. "Everything's set, sir. We just need the password."  
  
Halsey turned to look at the SPARTAN.  
  
"Unseal the hushed casket." The tech typed it in, the 'tube opened, and Halsey watched as the SPARTAN stumbled on his first step into his new world.  
  
When he fell to the cold, steel floor, the SPARTAN remembered whom he was: Lt. O'Brien, Paul A., serial number 1072-5981-517PO, of the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers third division. Looking around, the former Helljumper took a deep breath and surveyed his surroundings.  
  
"Huh?" The area around him was surprisingly so. Un-Covenant. Actually, to him, it seemed Human. And one Human thing caught his eye. It was a weapons locker. He jogged over, not believing his luck.  
  
"Sir, he's going for the guns. Should we stop him?"  
  
"Not a chance," replied Halsey, trying his hardest to keep from smirking. "I mean, he's going to be our pitiful little race's premier defenders. At least let him get reacquainted with his weapons."  
  
He made for the door.  
  
"I'm going to go talk to him. Have the Marines ready for anything."  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
Paul threw open the weapon locker and was filled with joy at what he saw: Two assault rifles, three shotguns, a half dozen pistols, ten grenades, and ammo. He pulled out a rifle, a dozen mags, and a pistol. He rammed one mag home and cocked the rifle, then pocketed his extra ammo and his sidearm. How the Covenant made this setup, he had no idea. He did know for a fact, however, that he was dead, knew that this was a dream, but he was going cause as much hell as he could for the bastards before his world went black again. He walked to the door, ready to leave, but it opened before he could get there. He raised his rifle, expecting some sort of Covenant assault team. But he saw a very Human, very real face. He centered the face in his sights.  
  
Halsey grinned as he put his hands up. The soldier had retained his fighting skills, no doubt there.  
  
"You Covenant bastard!" snarled the SPARTAN. "I know you're a Covenant. Take off the mask now, or I'll air out your dome while you still look like one of my kind!"  
  
Halsey lowered his hands, but the grin remained.  
  
"Put the AR down, son. I'm no Covie."  
  
"Bullshit!" retorted the SPARTAN, his finger tightening on the trigger. "Only Covies could make me like this after I'm dead! No way in hell Humans can!"  
  
"You're dead, I'll grant you that," said Halsey, "but in two years, under harsh circumstances, Humans can come up with cloning/resurrection technology. You just be thankful that some Marines picked up your neural implants on their way off of Reach."  
  
"Give me proof that you're Human," said the clone.  
  
"Look behind you."  
  
He turned and saw a Marine fireteam standing there, weapons raised. The weapons looked real, and so did their olive-drab BDUs. The young SPARTAN winced and put his AR down. "All right. You got me convinced. But now, explain to me why I'm resurrected."  
  
"You've been marked as an outstanding individual in the field. So, we decided to resurrect you for Project SPARTAN-III. You've been given physical augmentation and the genes of SPARTAN-117. You are one of twenty candidates chosen. You are Humanity's last hope. Since you're a bit. premature, we'll get you acquainted with your battle armor soon." Now, at this point, Halsey expected the subject to break down, mentally or emotionally. That's why he had the Marines.  
  
Instead, the young man grinned.  
  
"Permission to speak freely, sir?" he asked.  
  
"Uh, granted," said Halsey.  
  
"The name's Paul. And it feels damn good to be alive." 


	3. MJOLNIR v 70

Research Base Spartica Armor Fitting Room  
  
"Jesus Christ, does it really take this long to put this piece of junk on?" asked Paul, holding up his arms like a scarecrow, as six techs attached his new matte-black battle armor. It had been three hours already.  
  
"It does," replied Halsey, as he checked the soldier's vitals on his PDA. "This armor is a class-seven prototype MJOLNIR battle suit. It can take quadruple the heat of a Helljumper's HEV-" -Paul grinned a little- "-ten seconds sustained fire from a Shade gun, and a direct hit from a fuel rod bolt... And this is without the shields. It's arms mount high-tensile steel blades, the left has a cutting torch, and the right one contains high- tensile steel wire for rappelling... or whatever use you may find for it. Its visor is equipped with night vision, infrared, and bio-sensors. The back mounts four thrusters, which allow for a fifteen-second sustained flight. All of these are powered by a fusion cell in the unit's lower back."  
  
Paul whistled. "She seems like a complicated, neat SOB," he muttered. "How you can take her down, that's what I want to know."  
  
"Well, uh..." stammered Halsey, "That's the thing... Against weapons that deliver energy over an even area, like atmosphere, or Shades, or fuel rod, it can hold its own. Against direct-fire weapons, like standard issue plasma pistols and rifles, or even weak needlers... it's basically an MJOLNIR-II, in all respects. A few good hits, you can go to the great mess hall in the sky."  
  
"Aw, hell no," murmured Paul, "You mean I can be Superman against their artillery, but a Grunt can do me in?"  
  
"That's why each SPARTAN-III has been assigned a 'synchro-mate,'" continued the professor. "They are highly-skilled non-combatants who remain at base to aid you. They function in the roles of the old Cortana-class AIs. And, like Cortana AIs, they will be neurologically linked to you and your suit. They will be able to sense enemies and act as early-warning systems, and they will pass you fresh tactical info as the need arises."  
  
"Neurologically linked..." muttered Paul, as the techs continued outfitting him. "You mean they can read minds?"  
  
"Yep. I'll bring in Elizabeth so you can get acquainted. She'll be your synchro-mate for the remainder of this operation."  
  
"You're saying I have a chick for a synchro-mate."  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"Aw hell, a girl that can read minds," said Paul. "Remind me to write my will... She could kill me with her nagging because I thought she was ugly."  
  
"You wouldn't be saying that when you see her. She'll be coming in right about now."  
  
"Riiiight..." muttered Paul, turning his head as the door keyed open. "She's probably uglier than my little-" -he caught sight of her- "...sister..."  
  
Sgt. Major Elizabeth Carter caught Paul off guard as she strode into the room. Her beauty was stunning, he knew that from the first second. Even the no-nonsense techs paused from their work to admire her. Her black hair flowed like water over her shoulders, her brown eyes had a cute girlish gleam, and her skin wasn't pale like most Navy girls; instead, it was perfectly tanned, like she was from one of the old Earthen Pacific Islands, and she had a perfect form...  
  
"Sergeant Major Carter, reporting as per orders, sir," she said, throwing off a crisp salute. Even her voice was perfect, and despite his Marine skills, Paul fell head-over-heels for her. But he knew how to play the field.  
  
"Hey there, Sar-Major," he said smoothly. "You mind if I buy you a drink sometime soon?"  
  
Elizabeth ignored him and looked to Halsey.  
  
"This is the new SPARTAN?" she questioned.  
  
Halsey nodded.  
  
She turned to Paul and assessed him.  
  
"He's a bit... scrawny..." she concluded. 


End file.
